


Asahi Week

by Pouler (poulerslashes)



Series: Family Headcanon Theatre [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Family Headcanons, Gen, headcanons run amok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7764094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poulerslashes/pseuds/Pouler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Azumane Asahi Week: Holiday, Relationships, Angst, AU, NSFW, Expressions, Time Skip</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1: Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Moving this and a few other drabbles over from my tumblr! The original week was Nov 1-6 in 2015 but I didn't finish them all back then. I'll fill in the rest eventually.

Emi was forty years old when her third son was born. Though she was a healthy woman, the pregnancy was difficult. She spent much of the last month on bedrest, willing the child to stay where he was for just a few weeks longer until the risks were less.

 _Irresponsible_ , one of the ladies in her reading group had said, when she told them the news. _At your age? How could you do this to your husband?_   Emi didn’t return to her reading group after that.

Instead, she joined a knitting club at the rec center. When the doctor recommended she stop going out every day, the dozen or so women in that circle sent her care packages of patterns and yarn, homemade dinners to help feed the boys and, on one occasion, a small knitted dog with shiny button eyes and hand-stitched details.

Jun and Takeshi fought over who would be the better older brother the same way they fought over everything else – “I’ve already got experience,” Jun said in a snooty voice, but Takeshi just shouted at him in return, “Yeah and now I know what _not_ to do!”

Naoki was not accustomed to keeping the two of them in line. For all his stoicism, at the end of the day when he folded his long frame into the bed beside her, he often looked ten years older then he had appeared that morning.

“How much longer?” he’d ask her. There was nothing demanding or plaintive about the tone, nothing that spoke of resentment or frustration. He was a reserved man, and complaints weren’t in his nature. “How long until I meet my son?” he’d ask as he placed a careful hand on her stomach. In their bedroom after hours, with the blinds drawn and the door closed, he became a different person, softer and more affectionate. As much as Emi hated those weeks she spent in that bed, she found a small blessing in the extension of the hushed intimacy she shared with her usually taciturn husband.

The baby came three weeks early. It was a relief to Emi when she crossed the threshold of the thirty-fifth week; she felt as though she had done her part to ensure her littlest child would make it through. The birth was relatively easy, all things considered – Takeshi had been a nightmare from start to finish, born breech with the cord around his neck – but this child, small and still and quiet, came like an ocean wave kissing on the shore. Emi was nervous when she didn’t hear the baby cry at first – but the doctor held him up and she saw his tiny fists waving, his mouth open – and then he made a sound like a kitten mewing, and she knew he would be fine.

Later, as he slept nestled against her breast, with his knees and elbows drawn in and his little fingers curled into her skin, she marveled at how perfectly formed he was, even though he was so much smaller than his brothers had been – she ran a finger over the curve of his ear, the brown downy fuzz on his head, the wrinkled skin on his face. His limbs were skinny, but his chest was as wide as her entire hand. She knew before too long he’d be as big as any other Azumane boy.

When the midwife came in to check on her, she asked what time he’d been born. It was after dinner when the contractions started, and she had no reference for how long the labor had lasted.

“It was just after midnight, ma'am,” was the response, “so he was born in the new year.”

Emi smiled down at him. It was perfect, she thought. “Happy New Year,” she said. She pinched one of his little fists in between her thumb and forefinger. “Happy New Year, my Asahi, my love.”


	2. Day 2: Relationships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asahi has seven contacts in his favorites list.

Asahi has seven contacts in his favorites list.

At the top the list is his mom. He should probably be embarrassed about this – and honestly, sometimes, he definitely is – but he can’t deny that of all the people in the world he messages and calls, there is nothing more endearing and inscrutable than his mom’s tendency to pair unrelated emoji into an incomprehensible string of images, interspersed with innocuous text like ‘dinner will be ready at 8’.

Second is his father, even though Asahi doesn’t message him but once or twice a week. His father texts like he’s composing an email. 'Dear Asahi,’ his messages always begin, 'Your mother says you have a literature exam on Thursday. Please remember to put school first and study hard. I will be home Saturday. We can review then anything that gave you difficulty. Sincerely, Your Father.’  Asahi has learned to read in between the lines of his father’s messages – _I’m thinking of you, I want what is best for you, I love you._

Spots three and four belong to his brothers, in order of age. Jun doesn’t text often, but his wife Shio likes to steal his phone and send Asahi pictures of Jun sleeping with his mouth open and drool on his face – Asahi knows she sends them from Jun’s phone so that Jun will see them later. 'DELET ThAT’ Jun texts him after. 'NEVER’ Takeshi responds, having been included in the conversation. Takeshi himself messages at random intervals; he sends Asahi a lot of photos – 'look at this leaf quercus mongolica’,  '5am and i’ve already tagged six trees today, you’re still asleep i’m sure’, 'next time you come visit i want to show you this new trail’.

Suga and Daichi come next, in that order. The last eight messages from Daichi in his history are all the same text – 'Wake up, Asahi’, each sent around five-thirty in the morning. The message immediately preceding these eight is 'hey, do you think i should buy this backpack’ and then six more of 'Wake up, Asahi’. Suga’s texts are more colorful, everything from 'how many times do you think i can get tanaka to try and lick his own elbow for money’ to 'what was daichi thinking with that new backpack’ and then, his own collection of 'Asahi get your ass out of bed right now’, generally sent around six.

Asahi has only texted the last favorite on his list four times. 'This is Asahi,’ is his first text, followed by 'do you want to meet at the mall or at the restaurant’, 'okay see you there’, and finally, 'i had a really great time today’

The four responses to his messages are 'Hello Asahi-san this is Nishinoya!!!’ and 'restaurant is fine with me!’ and 'i can’t wait to see you!!’ and 'ME TOO!! xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx’

The seventh favorite on his list is the newest, but Asahi is beginning to suspect (to hope, to pray) that he might end up using it the most.


	3. Day 3: Angst

"Are you sure?”

It’s the first thing his father says in the course of the conversation, even though Asahi’s mother has asked question after question with regard to how he feels, who else knows, if anyone has said anything to confuse or hurt him.

“Am I sure?” Asahi repeats haltingly.

Across the table, Asahi’s mother turns to face her husband beside him. “What do you mean, is he sure?” she demands. “How can you ask him that?”

But Asahi’s father doesn’t acknowledge her. He looks straight at Asahi, his face stern and sharp. Jun often looks like him, but he so rarely looks like Jun – this is one of those few times, his eyes flinty, his mouth creased into a frown. “You’ve thought about this, yes?” he asks. “You’ve thought about what this will mean, what others will think?”

Asahi looks down at the surface of the table. The tears come before he can stop them; he feels them hot behind his eyes like little shards of glass, then the warmth spills over his face, and he hears a soft tap as one slips off his chin and falls against the table.

“Asahi, my dear,” his mother begins, but his father holds up a hand and she falls silent.

“Asahi,” he says, “is there someone?”

Asahi looks up. “What?”

“Is there someone?” his father repeats. “Did someone inspire this… feeling?”

“It’s not a feeling, Naoki,” his mother says harshly, “It’s just the way he is.”

“There’s no one in particular,” Asahi explains, “I don’t have a… a… a boyfriend or anything…” Just saying the word in front of his parents feels awkward and terrifying, a sort of nightmare, like the kind where he suddenly realizes he’s gone to school naked. He wishes he could swallow the word, rewind the last twenty minutes, wake up from it in his pajamas with a resolution for no more late-night snacking.

His father sits back. “Well, that’s different,” he says, voice tinged with relief. “It might be nothing, then. We don’t have to tell anyone. You can think about it more. Maybe you’re just too young to understand.”

“Naoki,” Asahi’s mother says tightly.

“Okay,” Asahi says. “Okay, then.” He pushes away from the table. “I’m going to bed.”

“Asahi – dear–”

“Goodnight,” Asahi says as he stands up. “Goodnight.” His throat catches and he feels more tears closing up his larynx. He turns away before they start to fall.

“Asahi,” his father says.

Asahi pauses. He doesn’t turn around.

“I only want what’s best for you,” his father says.

Asahi nods. He goes through the archway into the hall. He can hear his parents arguing the whole way up the stairs, and he hears their voices continue until he closes his bedroom door. He climbs into bed with his clothes on. He lays there a long time without sleeping.


End file.
